


Jilted Hearts

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [36]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dragon Riders, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28385088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Rochefort finally professes his love to the Queen, but when she rejects him, he snaps and sets off a campaign to destroy her.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [36]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 29
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was so close with my timing on this episode and Christmas, but just missed the mark, lol. And thank you 29pieces for beta reading!
> 
> Some dialogue from 2x9 and 2x10.

The palace was bustling with activity as servants skittered about getting the place ready for Noël festivities. Wreaths and tinsel decorated every spare inch of walls and doorways, and the warm aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves wafted throughout the Louvre from the kitchens working overtime to bake all the holiday delicacies. But even with all the tasks to accomplish, there was a notable air of Christmas cheer among everyone.

Anne's spirits were also lifted, now that the witch Milady was dead and the King was no longer afraid to leave his apartments. She was also no longer forbidden from leaving the palace, and the first place she had gone with her reinstated freedom was the dragon compound to see Constance.

"I'm so glad to see he's fully recovered," Anne commented as she fed Beltane some apples. The dragon seemed completely rehabilitated, no evidence his wing had been broken several months ago. And the depression certainly seemed to have abated, if his enthusiasm for chomping down on the fruit was any indication.

"He's doing very well," Constance said proudly.

Anne let out a very undignified squeak when the dragon's tongue slithered across her palm to snatch up the last apple.

Constance bit back a grin.

Anne's cheeks warmed slightly in the nippy air, and she pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her hand before putting her glove back on. "Constance, I would like you to come to the Noël feast."

Constance's brows rose sharply and she sputtered in surprise. " _Me_? But…I've never been invited to a palace function. It wouldn't be proper."

"Nonsense," Anne replied. "You will be my guest. Your father is invited as well. You both have served the Crown admirably for many years and this is a time to gather with cherished friends."

Constance blushed and ducked her head abashedly. "I have nothing to wear…"

Anne broke into a beaming smile. "We will find you something from my wardrobe."

"Oh, no, Your Majesty…"

"You loaned me a dress once," Anne interrupted. "It's only time I return the favor."

Constance still looked hesitant, but after a moment a sly smile tugged at her mouth. "Let's hope it doesn't land us in trouble like the last time," she quipped.

Anne shared a small laugh, and the two of them headed back to the palace and the Queen's apartments. Anne summoned her servants to bring in several dresses for Constance to look at.

"Oh," Constance said, looking a tad overwhelmed.

"Try them on," Anne prompted. "See which one you like best."

Constance nervously selected a dark maroon gown to try first and went behind the dressing screen. Anne found it amusing to be the one waiting on the other side for once.

The door had been left open since the ladies-in-waiting had had their arms full of gowns, and Rochefort strode in a moment later.

"Your Majesty," he said with a slight bow. "Might I have a moment? In private."

Anne furrowed her brow slightly but nodded. "Of course." She gestured for him to step back out of the room. "Constance, I'll be back in a moment," she called before following him out and then leading him down the hall to the next room over. "What is this about?" she asked.

He held out his hand, palm up, to present her with a jeweled bracelet. "A Christmas gift," he said.

Anne was slightly taken aback. Gifts were usually presented at the Noël ball. "It's beautiful," she said. "Thank you."

Rochefort reached out to take her hand, raising her arm so he could clip the bracelet around her wrist. "I searched high and low for the perfect piece to go with the jeweled crucifix I gave you."

She quirked a confused look at him. "Jeweled crucifix?"

Rochefort stilled, his eyes locked on hers. A crease marked his forehead. "Don't you remember? I gave it to you many years ago, when I was your tutor in Spain."

Anne faltered. "Forgive me," she said, slightly embarrassed. "I have so much jewelry."

Rochefort seemed stunned by her answer. "It was a token of my esteem. You said you would treasure it…forever."

She blushed at that. "I was fourteen years old. I hardly know what I said then."

Rochefort's gaze continued to bore into her as though she had grown a second head. "Where is it?" he asked, then in a more demanding tone said, "Show it to me."

Anne stared at him in disbelief as memory flickered, and she thought she remembered the crucifix…she'd given it to Aramis. But a small voice inside was warning her that would not be a good thing to say to Rochefort. Instead, she tried to brush the matter off nonchalantly. "It is of no consequence."

But that turned out to also be the wrong thing to say. Rochefort's eyes flashed dangerously and he grabbed her by the arms. Anne yelped and tried to pull away.

"Unhand me!"

"No," he said, voice cracking. "Not before I know."

She gaped at him as his eyes glistened with rare emotion. "Know what?" she gritted out.

"That you love me," he said, chin quivering. "As I love you."

Anne's eyes widened. She couldn't believe what he was saying. "You've lost your mind, Rochefort. Leave now, before it's too late."

He only tightened his grip on her arms and she struggled harder.

"You're hurting me!"

"I have dreamed of this moment for so long," he said, ignoring her. "To be alone with you, at last…" A tear streaked down his face. "To consummate our love…"

Horror flooded Anne's veins and she finally worked one arm free to lash out and slap his cheek. His head snapped back and he released her other arm. "Get out before I have you arrested!"

Rochefort stood suspended for a short beat, then slowly turned his head back to face her. The overwrought emotion of a second ago was instantly replaced with a dangerous flint.

"No one will come if you call," he said in a low voice shaking with seething ire. "Your servants answer to me now."

Anne's blood ran cold and she tried to dart past him, but he seized her arm and flung her around against the foot of the bed and she crashed to the floor with a yelp.

"You will love me," he said, rounding the bed toward her. "You will." He dropped to his knees in front of her as she hiccuped on a sob. "We will be together at last, no matter what."

He lunged forward to grab her again, his mouth going to her neck to nip and suck. She screamed and pushed back, somehow managing to knock him to the floor. But before she could scramble past him, he grabbed her again and rolled her onto her back, climbing on top of her. Anne cried and struggled as he pinned her arms by her head and set his devouring lips to her neck again.

"Let her go!" someone suddenly shrieked.

Rochefort reared up to see who had entered. Constance.

Anne reached for one of the pins in her hair and yanked it free, then thrust it upward into Rochefort's face. He cried out and rolled away from her. Constance darted over and quickly took Anne in her arms as terrified sobs wracked her uncontrollably.

Rochefort staggered to his feet and out the door. "You will pay for this!" he screeched. "You will pay!"

Anne shuddered with another convulsive gasp as Constance held her close and ran her hands over her head.

"Shh, you're all right now," she whispered, throwing a glance over her shoulder.

Anne continued to shake, and when she caught sight of her hand, it was streaked with blood.

"Rochefort needs to be arrested."

Anne blinked. Of course, Constance was right. She tried to rally herself, pushing herself upright on her own power. She gave a double-take at the cerulean blue dress Constance was wearing.

"You made a choice," Anne said numbly.

Constance frowned at her. "Come on," she said, taking Anne's hands and helping her to her feet. "We must call the guards."

Anne's heart lurched. "No! Rochefort is their captain."

Constance pressed her lips into a thin line, but then nodded. Clasping their hands together, she met Anne's eye earnestly. "I'll tell the musketeers what happened."

Anne slowly nodded. Yes, that was good. She trusted them.

Constance guided her over to sit on the edge of the bed, then moved toward the door and shouted for the servants to get in here. After what Rochefort had said, Anne didn't know whether she felt safe around them, though she could hardly imagine her ladies-in-waiting doing something to harm her.

They filed in, eyes averted, mouths clamped shut.

"Attend the Queen," Constance snapped at them, then turned to give Anne's hand one more squeeze. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she promised.

Anne nodded, then raised her arms to hug herself once Constance was gone. She was the only true friend Anne had, and even with five ladies-in-waiting surrounding her, she felt so alone and frightened.

.o.0.o.

Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan were gathered in Athos's office to discuss how to expose Rochefort as a Spanish spy. Aramis was having trouble focusing on the conversation, though. He'd barely slept in the past week, and when he had managed some, he was plagued by nightmares of hellish demons, black eyes, and a sinister laugh inside his head. Even the memory sent a shiver down his spine.

He knew Milady's death had brought peace to everyone else, even Athos. And Aramis wished it was as simple for him. But he remembered her hooking her magic into his soul, snuffing out everything that made him who he was, and replacing it with a mindless puppet that all too readily did her will. Even going so far as to try to kill those he called brothers.

The door suddenly banged open, startling him badly enough to flinch. Likely no one noticed, though, too surprised by Constance bursting in.

D'Artagnan leaped to his feet. "What's wrong?"

"You must come to the palace, quickly," she said. "Rochefort attacked the Queen."

Aramis's brows shot upward at the news, and they all exchanged alarmed looks before quickly getting up to follow her back to the palace. Here they'd been fretting over how they were going to discredit Rochefort, and he'd done it for them by his own actions.

"Where are the guards?" Athos asked as Constance led them down the hall toward the Queen's apartments.

"The Queen didn't want them called. They work for Rochefort, after all," Constance explained. "He tried to force himself on her. She fought him off. Wounded him."

Aramis shared a bewildered look with Porthos. They all knew Rochefort was a villain, but this?

Constance opened the doors to the Queen's rooms where they found her wiping her hands clean on a towel, her gaze hollow and distant as though she were in shock. With the barest gesture, she dismissed her ladies-in-waiting. Once they were gone and she was alone with Constance and the musketeers, who were all looking at her expectantly, she faltered and averted her gaze.

"He dared to lay hands on you?" Aramis broke the tense silence.

"I trusted him," she said, voice heavy with shame. "I thought he was my friend."

"The King _has_ been informed?" d'Artagnan said.

She didn't look at them, shifting her weight and picking at her fingers. Aramis wanted to go to her, to offer comfort and a secure embrace, but he knew a man's touch was likely unwanted at this time.

"My loyal musketeers will escort me," she finally said.

They wordlessly moved to take up position ahead and behind her as they made their way through the palace to the King's chambers. They were met with resistance by palace guards upon arriving.

"Get out of the way," Porthos barked.

"The King is not accepting visitors," a lieutenant rejoined.

"This is not a visitor, it's the Queen. Open the door."

Anne strode forward with her head held high. "Do as he says," she commanded.

The guards stood their ground.

"How dare you defy me!"

The musketeers drew their swords with a screech of steel against scabbard.

"Open the doors," d'Artagnan said dangerously. "Or we'll kill you and open them ourselves."

The guards finally backed away and the musketeers pressed forward. D'Artagnan and Porthos pushed the doors open with a raucous swing and stormed into the room. It was full of Council members muttering amongst themselves, an audience Aramis wasn't sure the Queen needed for what she had to report.

"You dare bring an armed guard into my presence!" Louis shouted, but there was more fear than anger in his voice.

"I must speak with you, Sire."

"You must indeed, madame," he snapped back.

Louis's expression was distraught, and after looking at the Queen for another moment, he turned and gestured to the table behind him. On it was a straw poppet, a collection of small animal bones, and a pentagram pendant.

"Rochefort claims he found these in your apartments," Louis said tremulously.

The Queen stared in shock at the unexpected accusation. "Those are not mine!" she proclaimed.

Rochefort, who'd been standing at the table with his back facing them, slowly turned around. A patch covered his left eye, and now the musketeers knew what Constance had meant when she'd said the Queen had wounded him.

"All this time we had been hunting for Milady," the man said in his slippery, susurrating tone, "when there was a witch right under our very noses."

"The Queen is not a witch," Aramis interjected sharply.

"Your Majesty should listen to the Queen," Athos put in. "You can't trust this man."

"I think I know how to spot a witch," Rochefort rejoined. "The evidence is undeniable."

"That evidence is false!" Constance shouted.

Louis, for his part, looked devastated as he cast his gaze around at them all. "I don't know who to trust," he whimpered.

"Sire, I am your loyal, loving wife," Anne pleaded.

Louis just shook his head. "I thought the Cardinal was loyal, and he betrayed me." He threw his arms out helplessly. "I don't know what to think." He turned toward his musketeers as though asking for their help.

But Rochefort swiftly stepped in, drawing his attention away. "Guards, escort the Queen back to her apartments. You musketeers, return to your garrison."

Aramis bristled.

"We don't take orders from you," d'Artagnan retorted.

Several guards inched closer, hands on the hilts of their swords. The musketeers still had theirs in hand. The King took a frightened step back, eyes going wide.

After a taut moment, Athos sheathed his blade. Following his lead, the rest of them did the same and turned to leave.

But this wasn't over.


	2. Chapter 2

Instead of leaving the palace as Rochefort had ordered, Athos turned and headed for the First Minister's chambers to alert Treville to what was going on. It was no coincidence that he hadn't been summoned to the assembly that heard Rochefort's accusations against the Queen.

"This can't be happening," Constance uttered to d'Artagnan as the others followed close behind. "If Rochefort convinces the King that the Queen is a witch, they'll burn her at the stake!"

"We won't let that happen," Porthos vowed.

They arrived at Treville's office and Athos pounded the side of his fist against the door.

"Come!"

Athos pushed the door opened and they all filed inside. Treville took one look at their faces and stood up quickly from his desk.

"What is it?"

"Rochefort has accused the Queen of practicing witchcraft," Athos said without preamble.

Treville's brows shot up to his hairline. "I beg your pardon?"

Athos nodded grimly. "Just now, in front of the King and his advisors."

"Why wasn't I informed?" he snapped.

"I imagine that was intentional," Athos replied.

"Rochefort also attacked the Queen," Constance added. "Just before his ridiculous accusation, after she'd fought him off."

Treville reeled back. "I must speak with the King."

"We need proof of Rochefort's lies if we're going to convince the King not to believe him," Athos pointed out. "As of right now, he's torn. The Cardinal's betrayal is still a raw wound for him, and Rochefort is a master manipulator."

Treville sighed and leaned over to brace his palms on his desk. "What do you suggest?"

"Search Rochefort's office. There might be something incriminating amongst his documents."

Treville nodded. "Alright, but our immediate priority is the Queen's safety. We have to get her away from him."

"We can go to the convent," Porthos put in. "Like last time."

"Good," Treville agreed. "Athos and I will remain here to search Rochefort's office. Now let's hurry."

As quickly as they'd filed in, they filed out, making their way back through the palace to the Queen's apartments. Most of the hallways were empty, but there was a pair of guards on the landing outside the main door.

"We need a distraction," d'Artagnan said quietly.

"Let me handle it," Constance said.

He snagged her arm and gave her a worried look, to which she simply responded with a resolute one of her own. He reluctantly let her go, and the rest of them waited for several long minutes before she finally returned, carrying a tray with a napkin spread over it.

With a nod, Athos and d'Artagnan slipped around the corner to come at the landing from another set of stairs. They waited until Constance stepped out of the shadowed stairway and walked toward the guards, who straightened at alert and closed ranks as she approached.

"It's refreshments for the Queen," she said. "Take a look."

She threw the silver platter in one guard's face as Athos and d'Artagnan leaped out from behind to clobber them. There was a brief struggle, but no shots were fired and Athos didn't think the noise had been very loud.

Porthos and Aramis opened a set of doors into an adjacent room and dragged the unconscious guards inside, then locked them in.

With the way cleared, they hurried down the hall toward the Queen's chambers. Inside, they found her much as they had earlier that day, standing with her hands wrung together and expression blank as she apparently awaited her fate. She looked ready to crumple when she saw it was only them.

"We must get you away from here," Aramis said. "To a place of safety."

Anne faltered. "I need to be with the King," she protested.

"Rochefort is a Spanish spy," Athos told her. "He will destroy you."

She looked at him in disbelief. "No. My brother would not…" Her voice broke off in shock. "He could not forsake me like this," she said, distraught.

"Your Majesty," Constance urged. "The palace is no longer safe."

Anne looked hesitant for a moment longer before nodding in assent.

Constance reached out to squeeze her hand, then turned toward the wall. "Here, this way. It leads to the servants landing."

Swiftly and silently, they all hurried through the passage down to the lower level of the Louvre. They didn't stop until they reached an exit, at which point Athos and Treville let the others go on, as they were staying behind.

"Be careful," Athos warned. "We'll rendezvous tomorrow morning."

Porthos gave a brisk nod, then hastened after the others.

Athos waited until they were completely out of sight before shutting the exit and turning back to Treville. "We have several hours to kill."

Treville huffed. "Assuming they don't notice the Queen is gone before then."

"Then I suggest we establish an alibi for ourselves."

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

Athos shrugged. "Do you still keep a bottle of wine in your bottom drawer?"

.o.0.o.

It was a somber flight to the convent. None of them had ever imagined they'd be on the run with the Queen again after the Cardinal's coup, but here they were.

Aramis held tight to Anne while trying to maintain a respectful distance—not an easy thing to do seated on the back of a dragon soaring through the sky. And despite her velvety winter cloak, she was shivering.

"We'll be there soon," he said.

She didn't respond for a long moment. Then, "How could my brother do this to me?"

"I doubt your brother had anything to do with it," Aramis replied. "Whatever the plans were for Rochefort as a Spanish spy, I believe he's acting on his own now."

"He thought I was in love with him," she said, so softly that Aramis almost didn't hear her over the wind.

He adjusted his hold ever so slightly to lay his gloved hand atop hers in a small gesture of comfort. "You're safe from his reach now."

They arrived at the convent just before nightfall, the dragons swooping down to land outside its walls. Three dragons of course drew attention, and a group of nuns emerged through the gate to see what the commotion was about.

"We are honored to receive Your Majesty," one of them said with a curtsey.

"I am in need of your help now more than ever, Sister Teresa," the Queen replied.

"God turns no one away who's in need of sanctuary. You are all welcome."

Aramis's heart gave a pang at that. For the first time in his life, he felt uncomfortable walking into the convent. He used to find rest in a house of God; now he felt like a stranger.

He let the others get the Queen settled, and fortunately none of them noticed him hanging back. Once he was alone, he turned and made his way to the chapel. It was empty, everyone having gone to see to the Queen. Aramis stood in the middle of the room, gazing upon the figure of Christ upon the Cross. He supposed he'd never given much thought to what it must have felt like, to wear the crown of thorns and bear the nails that pieced mortal flesh. He had experienced physical torture. It was the other agony that rent his soul asunder.

_"Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?"_ their Lord had cried.

"My God, my God," Aramis whispered. "Why have you forsaken me?"

He wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered.

He felt so cold.

.o.0.o.

Athos and Treville waited until after dark when Rochefort's duties for the day were over to sneak into his office. They lit a candle and then quickly started rifling through his many documents. Unfortunately, so many of them were legitimate business as a member of the King's Council and captain of the Palace Guard.

"There must be something," Athos murmured to himself.

"It could take us days to search through everything," Treville replied, equally frustrated. "He wouldn't keep anything incriminating out in the open anyway."

Athos scanned the shelves and went to grab a chest sitting on one of them. He set it on the desk and tried to lift the lid. It was locked.

"Should have had Porthos stay behind," he mused as he pulled out his own lock pick. It had been a gift from Porthos, though Athos had never had occasion to use it. Until now.

Athos was hardly as adept at it as the other musketeer was, and it took him several long moments to finally get the lock to click. He flipped the lid open and took out a stack of papers to examine. But there was nothing incriminating in there, either.

Treville shuffled through a pile and let out an exasperated huff, tossing them back into the chest.

Athos picked up Rochefort's seal and considered it as a secondary plan began to form. Yet before he could mention it to Treville, distant shouts sounded out in the corridor.

Treville quickly extinguished the candle, while Athos shut the chest and set it back in its place on the shelf, but not before pocketing the seal and one of Rochefort's letters. Then they went to the door and peeked out. The hallway was clear, so they slipped out of Rochefort's office and quickened their pace toward the sounds of commotion.

In the next wing, people were running frantically through the halls. Harried echoes reverberated among them.

"The King is dying!"

"The King has been poisoned!"

Athos and Treville exchanged a look of dismay.

"I'll find out what's happened," Treville said and started to leave.

Athos grabbed his arm. "This is Rochefort's plan," he said in a low voice. "Whatever it is, it is well advanced. Let him show his hand and then we strike."

"I am First Minister," Treville argued. "And with the Queen away, my duty is here."

"Your life is in danger as well because you are First Minister. That shot the assassin took at you not too long ago was no accident."

Treville's jaw ticked as he hesitated, but then he finally relented and they both turned to hurry in the opposite direction. With the chaos in the palace, no one paid them any heed and they made it to the garrison without incident. From there, Athos readied Savron for flight while Treville left instructions with the rest of the musketeers to keep their heads down and an eye out. Then their captain and former captain mounted up and took off.

They flew through the night and arrived at the convent the following morning. At first, it didn't appear the others were there at all, but once Savron landed, Athos was able to see Vrita, Rhaego, and Ayelet staying hidden under copses of snow-dusted trees. That was probably wise, even though the palace guards didn't have dragons to come after them with this time. But their laying low might also have had something to do with the sheep some nuns were tending several yards away.

Athos and Treville dismounted and Athos unclipped one of his saddle bags before sending Savron off to join the others.

The convent's gate opened and Porthos came out. "Did you find the letters?"

"No," Athos said. "But I think I found something better."

Porthos's mouth turned down as he regarded them. "You don't seem too confident about it."

"It's not that. Something happened at the palace."

"What?"

"We'd best tell the Queen first," Treville interjected.

Porthos's brows furrowed further, but he turned to lead them inside. Athos waited until the Queen, Aramis, d'Artagnan, and Constance had all joined them in the mess hall before sharing what had happened.

Anne's face paled at the news. "You must escort me back to Paris immediately."

"Returning now would be unwise," Treville cautioned.

"I will decide what is unwise," she cut him off sharply.

They all held their tongues at that.

"The King has been poisoned," she went on more softly. "I don't know if he is alive or dead. I must be ready to defend France."

"Rochefort is capable of anything," Porthos pointed out.

"Even poisoning the King?" Constance asked in disbelief.

Porthos gave a small shrug. "Well, maybe that was always the Spanish plan. Get Rochefort close enough to the King to…" He cast a hesitant look at the Queen before finishing. "To kill him."

"It makes no sense," d'Artagnan put in. "If the King dies, the Queen becomes regent. Rochefort loses all his influence."

"Not if the Queen is blamed for her husband's death," Aramis said.

"He wouldn't dare!" Anne gasped.

Athos turned toward her. "He has accused you of witchcraft. Why not murder as well?"

She looked at him in horror.

"With both the King and Queen gone, he'd be in a position to make terms with Spain," Aramis added.

"You must wait for more news before you act," Treville urged. "Stay here, gather support, raise an army if you have to."

"Raising an army would be an act of rebellion," d'Artagnan interrupted. "It could mean _civil war_."

"Surely it doesn't need to come to that," Constance said, shooting a fraught look at them all.

"Few would rally behind a Queen accused of witchcraft anyway," Athos pointed out.

"I will decide my own fate," she declared. "And I must return, whatever the risk."

"With respect, that's madness," Aramis said. "You can't be sure of your safety."

"I know that," she replied staunchly. "But if the King lives, he will need me by him. And if he dies…" She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. "My duty is clear."

The musketeers all shared somber looks at that. If that was the Queen's decision, they had no choice but to follow it.

Aramis leaned an arm on the table. "Vargas is the only man alive who can identify Rochefort for who he really is."

"What use is that?" d'Artagnan scowled. "He won't just hand himself in."

"But he might come," Athos responded, pulling out the letter he'd taken from Rochefort's office and setting it on the table. "If he thought his entire scheme was about to be exposed." He held up the other item he'd taken. "Rochefort's seal. We write in his hand, asking Vargas for help."

"Vargas must know his hand," Aramis pointed out. "Seal or no seal, he'll see the letter's a forgery."

"We can copy his style," Treville said.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I'm no forger."

"No, nor me," Porthos added.

Well, that put a slight crimp in their plan.

"Um," Constance spoke up. "I am."

Several pairs of eyes shot her astonished looks.

D'Artagnan twisted toward her. "Excuse me?"

Constance grimaced. "Sometimes I handle correspondence for my father, but of course he's the official dragon keeper, not me. So I…copy his hand and his signature." She flashed the Queen an apologetic look.

Porthos arched a brow in appreciation, while the others looked stunned by the revelation. Still, it was fortuitous.

"Vargas has never trusted anyone in his life," Treville said. "He'll be expecting an ambush."

Porthos set his jaw in grim resolution. "Not if there's only one man waiting for him."

Athos straightened. It was dangerous, but their best option. Especially since the Queen was determined to return to Paris and she could not go unprotected.

"Then that is our plan."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2021 everyone!

It was a couple of hours before Constance finished forging the letter to Vargas, but once it was ready and marked with Rochefort's seal, there was no more delaying.

Athos handed the letter to Porthos, who tucked it securely inside his coat. They clasped forearms and shared resolute nods of well-wishes.

Porthos then turned to Aramis and embraced him fervently. The marksman's eyes were dark and full of worry, but they all understood the necessity of this.

"Don't take any unnecessary risks," Aramis said as Porthos swung up onto Vrita's back.

"Eh, you know me," Porthos replied glibly.

Aramis, however, did not appear amused.

"Look after yourselves," d'Artagnan said, coming up to grasp Porthos's hand and pat Vrita with the other.

Porthos flashed him a confident smile. "We always do. It's you lot I worry about."

"Just…stay alive," Athos interjected seriously.

Porthos nodded. "I'll do my best."

The Queen walked over, and Porthos swiftly removed his hat as she reached a hand up toward him. It was a bit of a stretch, sitting atop his dragon, but he leaned down to take her hand and bowed his head.

"Godspeed, Porthos," she said.

"Your Majesty."

With that, he placed his hat back on his head and gave Vrita a nudge. She took a few lumbering steps before spreading her wings with a massive thwack and launching into the air.

Athos watched them rise into the sky and gradually grow smaller before disappearing from sight. He then turned to the Queen, knowing what came next even though he disagreed with it.

"Your Majesty, I will beg you one more time," Treville said. "At least stay until we have Vargas."

"It is impossible," she replied, then softened her expression. "I know the danger, Treville, but I must go." She turned to Athos. "I cannot delay any longer, Captain."

He gave a reluctant nod, and they all made their way over to the rest of the dragons. Each of them were doubled-up for the return flight, the Queen riding with Aramis on Rhaego.

Instead of heading straight for the palace, though, Athos led them to the garrison first in order to drop off the dragons. They needed to not draw attention when they re-entered the Louvre if they were going to have even the slightest chance of seeing the King before being caught by Rochefort's men. It was a foolish, desperate plan, but they had no choice. The Queen had spoken.

"Constance," Anne said after they had all dismounted. "You should return home."

"But Your Majesty…"

"I will not have you drawing Rochefort's ire by standing with me. It is too dangerous."

D'Artagnan leaned toward his wife. "She's right."

Constance shot him a look of indignant outrage at that. "Rochefort already knows I'm friend to the Queen." She turned to Anne. "And I won't stand anywhere else."

Anne's eyes glistened with emotion, and she reached out to squeeze Constance's hand in acceptance of her support.

"We should move quickly," Athos said. Not that he was eager to hasten their demise, but they needed to reach the King before anyone knew they had returned.

So they set off on foot, making their way through the dragon compound to the palace, rather than approaching from the main gates. Treville entered first. He hadn't been gone long enough to be implicated in the Queen's escape, or so Athos hoped. Still, as First Minister, he had the most authority within the palace after the King and Queen.

He treaded a path several paces ahead, making sure the coast was clear as they swiftly hurried toward the King's chambers. The halls were mostly empty, which was somewhat of a good sign; if the King were dead, no doubt the place would be in chaos. But the quietness was almost unnerving as they reached the King's apartments and Treville opened the door a crack so they could all slip inside.

Louis was in his bedchamber in bed, pale and sickly but alive. His eyes widened at their entrance and he let out a pitiful yelp as Anne rushed to his side.

"Sire, I am so relieved to see you alive," she gushed, reaching to take his hand.

He yanked it away and scooted back against the headboard. "What do you want?" he bleated.

"I am not a witch, you must believe me."

"Rochefort said you fled the palace," Louis said, voice quavering. "That it was a sign of your guilt."

She shook her head. "I regret the necessity of that. I wanted to stay by your side, but our loyal musketeers feared for my safety."

Louis darted his gaze around at them. "You're complicit in this?"

"Our duty is to protect both you and the Queen," Athos replied.

"Please, Your Majesty," Treville interjected. "Listen to what the Queen has to say."

The King still looked uncertain, but he slowly nodded toward his wife to go on. Yet before she could, the doors swung open, banging against the wall as Rochefort and a host of armed guards charged in to surround them. The musketeers unsheathed their blades and planted themselves between the threat and the royal couple.

"Put down your weapons!" Rochefort bellowed.

"You should put yours down!" d'Artagnan snapped back.

"How dare you enter the King's chambers in such a manner," Anne shouted, straightening with regal authority. "Get out, all of you."

Rochefort fixed is one good eye on the Queen, vengeful wrath simmering just beneath the surface. "First, you must answer to the charge of his attempted assassination."

"It's absurd!" Aramis exclaimed. "The Queen wasn't even in the palace."

"Her household has proved a den of assassins. Her key accomplice, Doctor Lemay, lost his head."

Anne's eyes blew wide in horror. She spun back toward the King, falling to her knees by his bed. "I beg Your Majesty to listen to me. I would _never_ harm you."

Louis flicked an uncertain look between her and Rochefort.

"Look into my eyes," she beseeched. "Tell me I'm guilty. You have been deceived by that man."

"Do not let her beguile you with her sorcery, Your Majesty!" Rochefort barked, then addressed his men. "Confine the Queen to her quarters. Securely this time."

The guards moved in to drag her away. D'Artagnan shot Athos a furious look as though asking if they were just going to stand by and allow this. But as much as Athos loathed it, they could not commit such an act of violence without condemning themselves with treason as well.

The Queen let out a sob as she was wrenched away from her husband. Louis simply wrapped his arms up over his head and rocked back and forth in distress.

"You will not succeed in this, Rochefort," she shouted. "The King will see what you are!"

Constance took a faltering step forward as the Queen was hauled out of sight.

"Your Majesty," Treville said earnestly. "Rochefort has a history of being quick to accuse without a proper investigation or proof."

"It seems Minister Treville is the one quick to dismiss the evidence," Rochefort put in disdainfully. "He is obviously in league with the Queen. Or worse, bewitched by her. I advise he be put under house arrest until this matter can be resolved."

Treville rounded on Rochefort, eyes flashing dangerously. "Are you going to frame me for sorcery now too?"

"Your Majesty, consider everything you and the Queen have been through together," Aramis urged.

Louis shook his head back and forth. "How can I know the truth?" he wailed.

"His Majesty is recovering from an attempted assassination," Rochefort said sharply. "He must rest." He drew his shoulders back as he faced down Treville. "Will you return to your chambers and fulfill your duty as First Minister?" he said, the question simple but his tone daring Treville to resist and give Rochefort cause to arrest him.

Treville glanced around at the rest of them, then grudgingly consented to being taken back to his apartments.

"Escort the musketeers and Madame d'Artagnan from the palace," Rochefort ordered his remaining men. "If they resist, arrest them."

Athos clenched his jaw as he sheathed his sword. This was the second time Rochefort was throwing them out and they could do nothing about it. Even worse, the Queen was now in danger again, and none of them were in a position to protect her.

.o.0.o.

Ayelet did not like sitting around waiting. She hadn't liked it at the convent—which they hadn't even been at for very long—and she disliked it here at the garrison. Maybe she couldn't accompany them to the palace, but she could help in other ways.

Falkor wasn't at the dragon compound, which Ayelet thought was odd. But then, sometimes he went out to the woods behind the palace for even more solitude, so she slipped out and made a quick flight over there. Sure enough, he was draped over some rocks and soaking in the sun's rays.

She retracted her wings as she alighted on the ground in front of him. She needed his help, she said without preamble.

Another witch? he asked blandly.

No, his rider, Rochefort. He was a spy for Spain, the very people who had held Falkor captive and tortured him. And now he was trying to destroy the Queen.

Falkor narrowed his eyes and slowly slid down from the rocks.

Ayelet said that as a witch hunter, Rochefort must have come across plenty of witchcraft paraphernalia. Perhaps he'd even kept some that he was now using to frame the Queen for sorcery. Could Falkor lead them to any proof that Rochefort was a traitor?

Falkor shook his head.

Any small thing would help, Ayelet pressed. If they didn't do something soon, the Queen could be burned at the stake.

Falkor said he didn't care about the Queen. Or Rochefort.

Ayelet blinked at him in dismay. But he cared about magic, and surely he wouldn't want to see Rochefort misuse it and an innocent person die for it?

Falkor let out a derisive snort and turned to shuffle into the woods. Humans weren't worth it, he said. That's what he'd learned over the years—he was better off without them. All they did was hurt and betray.

Ayelet hurried after him, stunned by what he was saying. Not all humans were like that, she said. The musketeers were good and honorable. If Falkor helped them bring down Rochefort, she was sure they'd give him a new home and a new rider, someone he could trust…

Falkor whirled on her, saying he wanted her to run away with him.

Ayelet gaped in stupefaction. What?

They could live in the mountains, like real dragons. Just the two of them.

She shook her head. No. She couldn't leave her rider and friends.

They would betray her one day, Falkor spat. She deserved to be with her own kind, furthering their race as they were meant to be in the wild. Not bending to the will of these puny humans.

Ayelet started to back away from him. No, they were her clan; she loved them.

Falkor let out an enraged snarl. She was just like the rest of them, only using him for her own gain.

No, that wasn't true. She wanted to be his friend.

Then she should come with him.

Ayelet shook her head as she said she was sorry, but she just couldn't.

Falkor's eyes flashed with a spark of amber, and he leaped at her with a might she hadn't thought his crippled body capable of. She scrabbled backward, but he collided with her, knocking her onto her side. She tried to get away, but he flung himself down on top of her, his greater weight pinning her to the ground. Ayelet screeched at him to stop as her claws scraped frantically at the dirt.

But he ignored her and shifted, mounting her from behind…

Ayelet shrieked.

Another roar shook the trees, but it wasn't Falkor. Something slammed into the male dragon, ripping him away from Ayelet. She caught a flash of red as they went crashing into some trunks with a resounding crack. Falkor twisted around and swiped his talons. Rhaego reeled out of the way and let out another deafening roar. Falkor snarled back and tried to attack, but while he may have been stronger than Ayelet, he was no match for the red dragon.

Rhaego darted out of the way and spun back around, lunging for Falkor and plunging his jaws into the crook of the other dragon's neck and shoulder. Falkor screamed and writhed, trying to break free. Rhaego ripped out a chunk of flesh as he wrenched himself away, skidding through the frost and mud as he planted himself between Falkor and Ayelet.

With a snap of his wings and another tree shaking screech, Rhaego warned that he would rip Falkor's throat out if he ever came near Ayelet again.

Falkor stood slumped forward, torso heaving as blood streamed down his shoulder and leg. He flicked his eyes toward Ayelet, betrayal glistening in those amber irises. Then he turned and with a heavy thwack of his wings, shakily lifted himself into the air and flew away.

Ayelet stayed on the ground, curled in on herself and trembling uncontrollably.

After several long moments, Rhaego turned around to face her, his expression pinched.

She asked what he was doing here, her voice quivering like the rest of her.

He shifted awkwardly. Savron wanted them to be ready at a moment's notice for when their riders returned, and Rhaego would be the fastest at tracking her down. He paused, then added that it was a good thing he did.

Ayelet averted her gaze in shame. She said she was sorry for not listening to Savron when he warned her to stay away from Falkor. Guess she'd learned her lesson about trust. She then whipped her head back up and begged Rhaego not to tell him, or Vrita.

Rhaego shifted uncertainly for a moment, but then nodded. He continued to look uncomfortable, and, after another long moment, started to inch closer.

Ayelet stiffened as he slowly came up beside her and looped his neck over hers in an awkward gesture of comfort.

She shuddered and closed her eyes at the contact. Then quietly thanked him.

His throat vibrated in response. That's what den mates were for.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan glowered at the guards as the musketeers were practically thrown out of the palace onto the lawn. He spun toward Athos.

"We should just end this now. One shot is all I'll need."

"Killing Rochefort would solve nothing," Athos replied with his usual calm exterior. It irked d'Artagnan in this moment, when there was more than enough cause to be up in arms.

"It's not the man we have to destroy," Constance put in. "It's his lies. Kill him now and the King might not ever discover the truth."

"Everything depends upon getting Vargas to the King," Athos said. "He is the only one who can discredit Rochefort's claims."

"And if Porthos fails to capture him, hm?" d'Artagnan pressed. "Or he refuses to speak? What then?"

Athos's jaw tightened as he glanced back at the shut palace doors. "We'll just have to go help him."

D'Artagnan exhaled heavily. It wasn't quite what he wanted to do to resolve this situation, but it was something.

They headed back to the garrison so they could get their dragons and fly south to join Porthos at the border.

"Pierre!" Athos called as they strode across the yard. "Take some men to the palace and guard Minister Treville. Don't let anyone deter you; the Musketeers are well within their prerogative to protect the First Minister."

"Is he in danger?" Pierre asked in alarm.

"I wouldn't put anything past Rochefort at this point."

Pierre's eyes widened, but he gave a brisk nod and hurried off to follow the captain's orders.

Savron was waiting in the yard, but there was no sign of Ayelet or Rhaego.

"Rhaego!" Aramis called, scanning the yard.

D'Artagnan cupped a hand over his mouth. "Ayelet!"

Neither appeared at the summons.

"Where have they gone?" d'Artagnan asked.

Savron's expression pinched as he gave them a regretful look that said he didn't know.

D'Artagnan's mouth turned down. Should he be worried? Could Rochefort have come after their dragons? But surely someone would have noticed if that was the case.

"I'm sure they're fine," Constance said, though her expression was one of concern as well.

It wasn't like them to both disappear like this, and d'Artagnan highly doubted they were together since they didn't get along that well. Had they had a spat and flown off in a petulant huff? _Now_ of all times?

"We can't afford to wait for them," Athos said. "Constance, Zhar and Beltane are flight ready?"

She nodded. "Beltane's been out a few times, but I'm not sure how ready he is for combat…"

"I'll take him," Aramis volunteered.

D'Artagnan pursed his lips as he once again searched the skies for his dragon. He hated to leave without her, but Athos was right, they couldn't delay. The Queen's life was at stake.

So they all headed next door to the dragon compound to retrieve and saddle the other dragons. Aramis greeted Cornet's former dragon and quietly explained the urgency of their mission and how they needed his help. D'Artagnan saddled Zhar, whom he'd be riding with Constance.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to stay behind this time?" he asked his wife.

She shot him a dry look as she buckled a sword and scabbard around her waist. "Not a chance."


	4. Chapter 4

After sending the letter to Vargas via carrier pigeon, Porthos picked up some extra guns and then headed for the rendezvous location early to start getting ready, in case their meeting didn't go as smoothly as he hoped.

He laid out his pistols on the ground and checked each one to make sure it was loaded and primed. Then he removed his pauldron and tucked it into his saddlebag. His shoulder felt cold without it. He couldn't even wear his cloak because the royal blue might ruin his cover story.

Vrita watched from the rock overhang she was curled under to keep out of sight.

"Hope this works," Porthos mused out loud.

She puffed out a breath through her nose in agreement.

"I have to go in alone," he reminded her.

She narrowed her eyes and grumbled discontentedly at that.

"Don't worry," he said. "If there's trouble, I know you've got my back."

A few moments later, Vrita lifted her head, eyes trained on the sky. Porthos looked over his shoulder and spotted a pewter gray dragon flying in with a rider. They landed across the basin on the Spanish side of the border.

Porthos took a deep breath and stood. Time to go.

Clipping one pistol at the small of his back, he turned and made his way down the rocky slope to the gravel path lining the teal green lakelet. He kept his eyes peeled against the chaparral and spindly trees with only a few stubborn leaves still clinging to bony branches. A couple of birds tweeted in the underbrush.

"Vargas," he called in a sing-song tone, making his way closer toward where he'd seen the dragon land. "Vargas!"

Slight movement up ahead briefly stalled Porthos, until he made out the shape of a man coming forward from between the trees. He didn't see the dragon yet.

"Who are you?" the man asked. "Where is Rochefort?"

Porthos smirked. "He didn't send you the letter. I did."

Vargas let out a disbelieving scoff. "You?"

"Mm," Porthos affirmed, enjoying holding the upper hand over the man who'd sent Rochefort into their midst. "You know, I was a servant in the household of the Spanish Ambassador, Perales," he said, playing the ruse. "And I learnt all kinds of secrets. Like the name of the Spanish spy-master." Porthos gestured to Vargas with a grin. "And his agent in the King's court," he added, shifting from amused to dead serious. "Rochefort."

"Well," Vargas said, looking away into the trees. "Perhaps we can…come to some arrangement." He rolled his head back to Porthos, who grinned triumphantly.

But then a snap of a branch had him whipping his head to the left, and a gunshot cracked the air a split second later. The ball whizzed past him by no more than an inch, and Porthos ducked reflexively. More men appeared through the underbrush, and Porthos turned and ran, narrowly avoiding another shot that struck the ground behind him.

A man jumped out into his path ahead and raised a pistol to fire, but Porthos whipped out his faster and pulled the trigger. The man fell back, hit dead center.

That was Porthos's one shot, though, and now he had to make it back up the slope.

Shouts in Spanish sounded behind him, but Porthos guessed their meaning. He glanced over his shoulder as more men poured forth from the rocks and gave chase. Porthos grinned; he always did enjoy a challenge.

He scrambled up the incline and back toward where he'd left Vrita and his weapons. She shifted restlessly at his arrival.

"See?" he said. "Still in one piece."

She gurgled something in her throat as he retrieved his pauldron and snapped it back into place on his shoulder. Then he picked up two guns and went to stand at the edge of the ridge, looking down into the basin. He saw Vargas and his men making their way toward his location, Vargas's dragon following behind on foot. They drew to a stop when they spotted him as well. Porthos merely grinned and turned to slip out of sight. They still didn't know about Vrita.

He moved down a ways where he could peer through the cover of some chaparral and watched the Spanish resume their course toward him.

"That's it," he murmured. "Come an' get me."

Going to some rocks and hunkering down, he waited.

When the first man crested the top of the basin, Porthos lurched upward and shot him down. He then quickly darted away from the edge as several rounds of return fire sounded from the men below.

Snatching up two more pistols, Porthos hastened to another position.

"You are a fine shot for a lowly servant, monsieur," Vargas's voice echoed over the rocky shelves. "But how long do you think you can hold out?"

Vargas had a lot of men, Porthos would give him that. But he'd been outnumbered most of his life, and that never made him back down before.

"If you come down, we will make it quick. You have my word."

Porthos's face split into a feral grin. "All right, then!" he shouted back. "Let's make it quick!"

He shot up from his hiding place and aimed at the closest soldier, shooting him down before he'd even realized he was in Porthos's crosshairs.

The Spanish returned fire, and once more the basin thundered with the resounding crack of pistols. Porthos sprinted across the ground, rounding some trees and shooting another man almost to the top of the incline. Trees splintered around Porthos and he dove to the ground for cover. Panting, he pressed himself against a rock and listened for more encroaching soldiers.

A branch snapped behind him and he whirled, eyes rounding as he realized he'd forgotten to keep an eye on the dragon—which had managed to circle around him.

The beast bared its fangs and its muscles rippled as it prepared to lunge, but then Vrita was charging in with a roar and body slammed the dragon from the side. They both went rolling away in a tangle of limbs and gnashing teeth.

Porthos scrambled to his feet to take advantage of the distraction and shoot at a couple more Spanish agents, who seemed momentarily stunned to find there was another dragon in their midst. Porthos took a smidgen of satisfaction from that, even though he was worried about Vrita. But they both had a job to do.

He had one pistol left and no time to rush back to his saddlebags in order to reload. So he lined up his last shot and took it, then darted for some more cover and drew his main gauche.

Another man had made it up the slope and was creeping around the chaparral. Porthos waited until he passed right by him, then struck through the branches and stabbed him in the chest. His cries echoed loudly in the sudden silence of ceased gunfire. The dragons had come to a standstill, facing off with each other in a series of growls. Porthos wrenched his attention back to the human threat.

Yet another soldier was charging in toward his fallen comrade. Porthos attempted to replicate that previous attack, but this man managed to duck under his swing and swipe his sword back at him. Porthos caught his arm and twisted, but the man grabbed his other arm and did the same, and they both ended up falling to the ground and grappling with each other. Porthos struggled as a hand pushed against his face and a knee dug into his stomach. He flailed his hand around for his fallen dagger while simultaneously trying to throw the man off.

Finally his fingers grasped the hilt and he closed his fist around it. With a surge of strength, he flipped his attacker over and rolled on top of him, plunging the dagger into the man's throat. Then Porthos rocked to the side, chest heaving from exertion. He heard Vrita's shriek of warning and looked up in time to see another soldier stalking toward him, pistol raised.

His dragon made a move to come to his aid, but the Spanish dragon lunged at her, and their dogfight resumed. Porthos was trapped, sprawled between two dead bodies and his weapons out of reach. His heart stuck in his throat as he faced down his imminent death, his plan failed.

But just before the Spanish soldier could end him, a shot from somewhere else struck the man's chest, piercing his armor and felling him instantly. Porthos whipped his head around in surprise as d'Artagnan and Athos sprinted toward him. From above, Savron and Zhar swooped down to help Vrita. The gray dragon, now woefully outnumbered, shrieked and took off.

Porthos pushed himself to his feet in time for another musket crack to take out the last of Vargas's lieutenants. Perched on the rise was Aramis, seated atop Beltane, tendrils of smoke and heat wafting from the musket in his hands. Porthos frowned at the unexpected rescue—and arrangement. But there would be time for questions later.

Snatching up his gauche, he hurried down the slope just as d'Artagnan and Athos closed in on Vargas, pistols raised. The man had his own weapon aimed back at them. But then to Porthos's added surprise, Constance stepped out behind the man and placed the edge of a sword across his shoulder.

"Surrender, monsieur," she said.

Vargas flicked his eyes toward her. "You bring women to fight your battles?" he remarked disdainfully.

Constance slid her blade across his shoulder, angling the tip up under his beard. "Perhaps I bring men to fight mine."

Athos moved in and divested Vargas of his pistol. Porthos gave his friends a small nod of gratitude.

"What happened to Ayelet and Rhaego?" he asked d'Artagnan quietly.

The lad's expression pinched. "They weren't at the garrison when we decided to come help you, and Athos didn't want to wait."

Porthos frowned. "I take it the Queen's return didn't go well."

D'Artagnan huffed. "Understatement. Vargas is our last hope."

Porthos narrowed his eyes and turned toward their prisoner. Marching over, he seized the man by the back of his coat and forced him to his knees, then wrenched his arm up and behind him until the bone snapped taut.

Vargas grunted. "You are a poor interrogator," he spat. "Mere pain is nothing."

Athos surged forward and dragged Porthos off of him.

"I will never betray my country!" Vargas declared.

"You already have," Athos replied calmly.

Vargas furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Does King Philip want to see his own sister murdered?" d'Artagnan said. "Rochefort intends to kill her. She may only be hours away from her execution."

"The King loves his sister," Athos added. "If she dies, he'll want revenge. And he'll come to you first."

"Rochefort was never told to harm the Queen."

"He's a monster of your making," d'Artagnan said.

Vargas looked around at them, doubt flickering in his eyes.

"Give evidence against Rochefort and you save the Queen," Athos said.

"If you run, she dies," Porthos added. "So do you."

Vargas shook his head to himself. "Rochefort's capacity for suffering was remarkable," he commented. "When I turned him, I had great hopes for him. But even I could not imagine he would climb so far."

"You created him," Athos said. "Now you must destroy him."

Vargas lowered his gaze. He knew he had lost.

Constance whistled for the dragons to come to them so they could mount up and return with all haste. Porthos noticed Aramis and Beltane were still on the ridge, perhaps just keeping a lookout in case Vargas had more reinforcements not far from here. It was strange, seeing the marksman without Rhaego. And Ayelet, always so eager to help with Musketeer business.

Where on earth could those dragons have gotten to?

.o.0.o.

Rochefort slipped into the King's bedchamber. Louis was in his nightgown, standing by the window and gazing despondently out at the gardens. He was gradually recovering from the poisoning, but the stress of everything else was also taking a toll. It was time for Rochefort to end this. If he couldn't have Anne, then no one would.

"I know it is difficult, Your Majesty," he began in a low, soothing tone. "But you must act swiftly if we are to contain this treacherous witch's threat."

Louis turned from the window, brow furrowed. "That is the Queen you are speaking of," he warned sharply.

"She was your Queen, Sire. Now she is a servant of evil. Perhaps you were right, and she was bespelled by that girl Emilie when she snuck out to visit her camp."

The King blanched at the reminder. Rochefort hid a smirk; good, there was still fear there he could use to his advantage.

"We must stop this corruption before it spreads and infects more people. Already your First Minister and Captain of the Musketeers can't be trusted. End her evil influence and you can save them." Rochefort drew out a piece of parchment he'd prepared.

"What is that?" Louis asked.

"The only certain way of defeating a witch," he replied, angling the command to put the Queen to death by burning toward the King. "You must sign it. Only then can you be safe."

Louis's eyes widened in horror and he shook his head frantically.

"You must sign the Queen's death warrant," Rochefort urged.

He sniffled in a very unkingly manner. "Look, Rochefort, I cannot kill my own…"

"You must do it, Sire!" Rochefort pressed.

"I cannot!" he wailed. "I will be alone in the world."

Rochefort's jaw tightened. "Would you rather let her sorcery go unchecked? To turn the palace into a den of heinous blasphemy until God himself decides to rain down judgment on Paris as he did Sodom and Gomorrah?"

Louis spun away from him with an anguished sob.

Rochefort stepped closer and held out the order for him to sign. "It is the only way."

The King's shoulders shuddered with his torment, and it was a few moments before he finally gained control of himself and slowly lifted his head. Resolve had settled over his features, and Rochefort felt a thrill of anticipation at his victory.

"No," Louis said.

Rochefort blinked. What?

Louis shook his head staunchly. "I know you are a skilled witch hunter, Rochefort, but I will not believe the charges against Anne. There must be another explanation for the items you found in her apartments, and I will hear her." He drew his shoulders back. "Bring her to me."

Rochefort could only stand there, stunned. He'd had the King right where he wanted him—reduced to a sniveling, terrified weakling. He had kept Treville and the musketeers away so they could not sway him. So where then had this abrupt backbone come from?

"Rochefort," the King repeated tersely.

He snapped back to himself. "As you wish, Your Majesty," he said with a bow, then turned and stiffly walked out of the room. His mind raced with what to do now. He couldn't risk the King believing anything the Queen told him. She could ruin him.

He clenched his fists in fury as he strode through the halls toward her apartments. All of his careful planning and efforts, undone just like that.

No, he refused to accept defeat.

He waved his hand at the guards stationed outside her door and sent them away. "Make sure no one enters this hall," he snapped at them before taking hold of the door handle and pushing inward.

The Queen was kneeling in front of her prayer altar, head bowed and hands clasped. Rochefort felt his anger flare at her false display of piety. She was unfaithful.

She either heard or sensed his presence, because she slowly rose to her feet and turned around. He could see the fear in her eyes, and that soothed the raging beast within him slightly, for it relished the sense of power it gave him over her. He was still in control.

He stalked toward her. "Your time has ended, Majesty," he said.

The pulse point in her throat jumped and she edged toward the bed, trying to keep a distance between them, though there was no escape from him, not this time. His heart burned with murderous rage for what she'd done to him, yet another part, the part that had yearned for her so deeply for so many years, stirred with renewed hope. He would keep his vow—she would be his, and his alone.

He lunged at her. She screamed and tried to run, but he grabbed her arm and swung her around. Her head struck the corner of the bedpost and she fell to the floor, dazed. Rochefort knelt down and clamped a hand over her mouth. Holding her securely against him, he moved his hand up just enough to block her nose.

Her eyes blew wide and she writhed and squirmed against him, but he held fast, cutting off her air and muffled screams until she finally fell slack in his arms. Then he simply sat there for a long moment, drinking in the warmth of her soft body against his.

But he had little time, so he pushed himself to his feet and ripped the curtains from the window. Wrapping the Queen up, he then slung her over his shoulder and slipped out onto the servants landing, the very same passage the musketeers had secreted her away through. Well, now it was his turn.

Only, he made his way to the hidden tunnels that ran beneath the palace and the city, coming out at the spot in the woods that he'd told his dragon to be ready at in the coming days, just in case. But when he arrived, Falkor wasn't there.

Rochefort ventured out to look around, scanning the still and silent woods. His lump of a dragon was nowhere to be seen. "Falkor!" he hissed. There was no answer.

Cursing the wretched beast, Rochefort had no choice but to flee back into the tunnels. He would not get far with the Queen without his dragon. But there was the Cardinal's old secret lair, and he was confident no one would think to look for them there. It would buy him some time to consider his options.

Or, perhaps time would simply run out.

For both of them.

.o.0.o.

The musketeers made good time returning with Vargas from the border, and this time they didn't bother with stealth but landed their dragons right in the palace gardens. Palace guards immediately surged out to confront them, but a few shrieks from their dragons had them scattering.

Savron and Zhar carved a path to the palace doors as the musketeers stormed inside. Athos and d'Artagnan took the lead, cutting down any resistance they met. Porthos followed behind with Vargas, while Aramis and Constance brought up the rear.

Within minutes, they had reached the King's chambers and burst inside.

Louis scrambled back against the wall in fright. "What is this?" he bleated. "You- she's not-" he stammered insensibly.

"Your Majesty," Athos said in his customary sedate tone. "This man has information you need to hear."

Louis flicked an uncertain look at Vargas as Porthos pushed him forward.

"If you want to see Madrid again, start talking," the large musketeer growled.

The Spanish spy-master huffed in resignation. "My name is Vargas," he said, accent sharp. "While Rochefort was imprisoned in a Spanish prison, I turned him and sent him back to France as my agent."

Louis's eyes blew wide and his mouth moved soundlessly in shock. "I am surrounded by traitors?" he breathed.

"Only one, Your Majesty," Athos corrected. "Rochefort's accusations against the Queen are false. She is not a witch."

The King sagged back against the wall. "I knew she couldn't have been…" he said almost to himself. Then his eyes widened again and he straightened sharply. "I told Rochefort I would hear Anne's side. I ordered him to bring her to me and he hasn't returned."

The musketeers exchanged alarmed looks at that and spun on their heels to hurry to the Queen's apartments. Porthos dragged Vargas along with them, and even Louis ran at their heels, nightgown trailing behind him.

They burst into the Queen's rooms only to find them empty. A curtain rod was hanging loose from one end, the drapes apparently having been yanked down. Signs of a struggle?

Aramis went and knelt on the floor, reaching out to touch a small dark spot on the rug. He raised his fingers to his nose, then looked up. "Blood."

Athos mentally reeled back in dismay. They were too late.

Louis sank to his knees, his face drained of all color, and wrapped his arms around himself tightly. "What have I done?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> Rochefort has kidnapped the Queen and a desperate search ensues. Will the musketeers find her before it's too late?


End file.
